Betrayal
by LukeAndLorelai Brucas Fan
Summary: That instant I loved her. It was a betrayal. What I felt that Christmas night was more than gratitude, more than just a desire to sit with someone who wouldn't push me to open up. It was unforgivable. I'm so very sorry. Again and always.


I feel like I've been writing this for weeks, but I've just checked and the first document was only saved twelve days ago. I guess that just goes to show how little grasp of Time I have.

My first thought was something along the lines of 'how the hell did George end up marrying his brother's girlfriend?" and things snowballed from there. Other versions included Fred II, the new Mrs. Weasley attempting to make her husband "eat slugs" and theories on how that particular spell actually created a single slug – my favourite was that she accidently hit a fly and it somehow became transfigured.

But this is the final version. And I think I'm happy with it. So, I have one last thing to say - on this day, the 34th anniversary of the birth of Fred and George Weasley, I give this to the world, in honour of two of y favourite April Fools. Happy birthday boys. I miss you.

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><p>Afterwards I couldn't speak. Not a word for months. I just didn't seem to have the right words in me. And because nothing seemed enough to express what I felt, that was what I said.<p>

Nothing.

But then, something got through to me, just enough to finally take notice of the way they were looking at me. The ones that were left. All of them, staring. All the time.

It was as if they were waiting for something to happen. For me to do something? I don't know, but I realised I would have to start somewhere.

Mum hadn't given up on me in all that time. She was always asking me questions, _Would you like some more potatoes George?_ _Have you got enough blankets?_ And for so long I barely even looked at her, then finally I relented to give some answers. _No. Yes._

One word at a time. It was the best I could do.

When I got home that day after seeing Lee she asked how it was and all I could manage was _Fine._ I knew that she knew it had been far from fine. How could it be? The two of us sitting there with our Butterbeers, trying not to draw too much attention to how wrong it felt for there to be just two of us? As if we were each missing a vital body part. At least that was the way that I felt. Every second of every minute of every day.

It had been horrible. And even though we made a plan to meet up again soon afterwards, I didn't see him again, until… Well, not for a while anyway.

And you know, I couldn't even look in the mirror? Did you know about that? If someone asked me the last time I'd done it, I'd have to guess Bill's wedding day, that was the last time I remember it anyway. But to pick an actual date, honestly I've got no idea. It was _before_, that I know for certain. But a day? A week? A month before? There had been so much going on I don't think there was really time for something so simple as glancing into a reflective pane of glass.

Seems silly now to even think about.

I couldn't do it anyway. I was only half a person then and it would have been too cruel to look. Having a mirror image again… I just couldn't. It wouldn't have been the _right_ mirror image.

That was part of the problem with Lee too. Looking at him, seeing in his eyes, the things that I thought to myself in the dark, that it should have been me. That I was just the look-a-like and you were the one that they loved the most. You were the better son, brother, friend, wizard. Why was I the one that survived?

Why couldn't I go with you?

The week before Christmas I worked myself into a panic at the thought of _all_ those eyes staring at me. As usual everyone would be at the Burrow and even if they didn't mean to, I knew they would all be watching me. How was I supposed to survive that?

There were at least three of them tracking me at any given time during the days leading up to Christmas. When we sat down to eat all ten of them turned to me and the space beside me. Your chair was gone, but we would never need a reminder as simple as that or any reminder at all, for that matter. No one was ever going to forget you. Least of all the people gathered in that house.

Do you know what happened then? Mum was trying to force me into taking another helping of peas and there was a knock at the door.

An angel came to our house that Christmas and mercifully interrupted the meal I couldn't taste and the conversation I didn't have the energy to be a part of.

All eyes turned from me to her.

In that moment when I looked to see her framed by the doorway, the snow falling behind her and the garden path winding off into the distance I betrayed you.

I don't think I could have done anything worse than what I did that night. I'm so sorry.

That instant that I looked up and saw her there I loved her.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this. I know you weren't there, but a large part of me believes that you still witnessed it all. So why am I doing this? Well, because I need to get it all out, and I need to make all of my apologies.

If you were watching that night, you'd probably remember what she said right? She stood there as Bill held the door open and she looked everywhere but at us. "I know this isn't a good time. I'm really sorry to just show up like this, but I was hoping we could talk?" She looked at the floor, the wall, out the window. Anywhere but at us, the ones who shared the same hair and eyes.

She definitely wasn't looking at me. And that felt glorious. For the first time in months I was able to look at someone without having them staring back.

Just for a second she found me, but then she turned to the clock, "Just for a minute," she added, because no one had said a word. "Then I'll go, let you get back to-"

She was going to say celebration I think. But how could she? Anyone could plainly see that what we were doing at that table wasn't celebrating. We were pretending.

I, of course, excused myself, largely to get away from all the staring. They were at it again. We slipped out to the garden and made our way over to a bench.

"I miss him," she told me after we'd sat there in the cold for at least a minute. She was fiddling with her old Gryffindor scarf and I was staring off at nothing. "And you too, but… I didn't think- I thought maybe you wouldn't want to see me, because… I don't know why. But I wanted to come and apologise for not writing, for yelling at the two of you when Umbridge banned you from Quidditch, for being hard on you. For everything. I shouldn't have just disappeared on you. I'm sorry. I just miss him."

I couldn't believe that I was crying. I mean, it made sense, but I was pretty sure that by that point, I would have used up more than the possible amount of tears allotted to a person in a lifetime. But as we sat there, her sobbing into her scarf, my cheeks were wet and my eyelashes were practically frozen together.

I finally managed a meagre "Me too."

Two words were all I could do at that point. But I meant so many things with them. That I'd missed you more than words could ever express. That I was sorry for making her yell at us. That I wished I could have written too, but the words refused to come out of my fingers just as they'd stuck to the roof of my mouth.

From that day forward my answers slowly started to get longer. Two words, then three and then four. Each time she visited she seemed to bring with her another piece of the puzzle that was my mind.

We would sit in silence or reminisce about the times we'd shared at school, tell stories about you, our favourite memories, and piece by piece she put me back together.

I'm so, so very sorry Fred. Again and always. Incredibly sorry. You have to know that I hated myself for it. Far more than you could ever have done.

But those visits, they became more than just an escape from those searching hugs of mum's or dad's watery eyes. It took until my second birthday – you know, the second one I didn't have to share with you but I would have given anything in the entire world to have done so – but by then I'd worked out exactly what that was.

I even now sometimes feel sick about it. But I couldn't stop if I tried.

What I had felt that Christmas night when she stood surrounded by all those stars, was more than gratitude, more than just a desire to sit with someone who wouldn't push me to open up.

It was unforgivable.

You'd been gone just a few months and I had fallen in love with your girlfriend. It didn't matter that it took me another two years to realise it. I was still scum. Am scum.

It was a betrayal. Falling for her, kissing her, just being with her. And I know she felt the same way. We had long uncomfortable tearful talks about it – what you would have to say about it, what you would do to us - but do you know what we decided Freddie? We thought about it long and hard and we decided that you would have wanted us to be happy. We thought you would have been able to forgive us, because you wouldn't want either of us to be alone.

We both loved you and that was probably what brought us together. Actually, I remember thinking a few times that _you_ brought us together. Not our grief at losing you, but you. Like, maybe you were sitting somewhere, probably with Dumbledore and uncle Bilius (say hi to them for me if they are there) playing some twisted game of chess or something, and putting us together.

Maybe you were the one that sent her to the Burrow that first night.

I never should have allowed it to happen. Although, much wiser men than myself have said that you can't help who you love. You know I'd give anything to have you back laughing at my one-eared jokes. (I'm holy Fred, remember?) But it's useless to wish it and hope for it.

Instead I'll do what I'm sure you would tell me to do if you could get a message to me from wherever you are.

I'll try to move on, and I'll live my life. I'll work on being happy. I hope its ok with you that I try to make her happy too. You should know that if she lets me I'll spend forever doing whatever is necessary to make her smile and laugh and enjoy her life.

So, to make a long story short - although there's no way I could do that now after all this waffling on, is there? - I have a question to ask you…

Do you think Angelina'll marry me?

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><p>I know there's probably a million letters from George to Fred by now, but I had to try my hand at it. Actually, originally I think this was just supposed to just be George thinking. Then it was a letter to Angelina. Or George had written out his proposal in the hopes of memorising it and she got the wrong idea (mind you that was set about four years after they'd gotten married, Fred II was down the hall and she was pregnant with Roxanne, so maybe it was baby brain, thinking it was a goodbye.)<p>

In any case, reviews are love, and George deserves all the love he can get on this day. Do it for Fred too, if you miss him like I do.


End file.
